


Micah 4:4

by thatlesbianxoxo



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Character Study, I Don't Even Know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-09
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26895772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatlesbianxoxo/pseuds/thatlesbianxoxo
Summary: James grapples with his choices, and the mistakes he's made.
Kudos: 5





	Micah 4:4

_And everyone shall sit under their own vine, and under their own fig tree, and no one shall make them afraid, for the Lord Almighty has spoken._

_Micah 4:4_   
  
  
  


James is sitting on the floor of that lonely room below Project Purity, staring at the writhing bundle of cloth on the bed. There's a picture frame on the table next to him, set face-down on the old wood, surrounded by empty liquor bottles.

Catherine is dead. All that's left of her is that little girl on the bed, crying out for a mother that is long gone, now- buried behind the Jefferson Memorial, a little wooden cross marking her grave.

She was here what feels like just a moment ago, telling him to feel her stomach, those dark eyes smiling up at him. He can almost hear her laughter in the room, a sound that made him feel lighter, happier. Now, there's a weight in his chest that he isn't quite sure will ever go away.

The baby cries out, and he sighs, lowers his head into his hands. He's tired, so _goddamn_ tired, and the baby won't stop crying.

Baby… that's not her name, is it? Catherine had named her, written the list down on an old lab report. 

He stands, hurries to the nearby desk, throws papers and pencils to the side until he finds it, some unimportant document from months ago before they knew anything about their child.

In his grief, he had forgotten to name his own daughter.

The two names are written in barely legible, scrawling cursive- Catherine always did have the worst handwriting, he recalls with a wet chuckle.

Gabriel, for a boy, and Kathleen for a girl. James was estranged from his family, so Catherine had gone with the names of the grandparents who had raised her, who had lost their lives to raiders almost two decades ago.

“Kathleen.” He whispers, looks back over at the bundle of cloth, “Kathleen…”

He picks her up, gently, like Catherine had shown him, and holds her to his chest as he sits on the bed, hums softly under his breath.

"I think we'll be okay." He whispers, gently kisses the soft skin of her forehead, "I think we'll be okay."

* * *

“What the hell do you mean you're leaving?” Madison snaps, standing in the doorway. There's a half-packed bag on the bed, clothes and baby supplies thrown haphazardly into it.

James raises a finger to his lips.

“She's sleeping.” He says softly, but Madison barely gives the gently rocking crib a glance as she moves into the room.

“Where do you think you're going to go?” She continues, and James sighs.

“I've been in contact with a…” If he told her the truth, would she even believe him?”... community, up north, in need of a doctor.”

“So you're just abandoning us, is that it?”

“I'm sorry, Madison, I am. But what choice do I have?” He says, pausing in his packing to face her.

“I thought I knew you... I trusted you! We all did! How can you be so selfish?” She says, her voice rising. James takes a step toward her, gesturing to the crib.

  
“Selfish? This is my child we're talking about, Madison! My child!” He shouts back, and freezes as the crib jostles. A small sound comes from it, and he sighs, steps over to it and reaches a hand in, rocking the crib and humming under his breath.

Madison heads for the doorway and stops, looks back at him over her shoulder.

“You think this is what Catherine would've wanted?” She asks, and he winces, grips the crib even tighter until Madison’s footsteps fade.

* * *

Moriarty raises his glass for a toast, grinning all the while as he _clinks_ his glass against James’s. They've moved upstairs, to Moriarity's private room to discuss the Vault. Kathleen is asleep in his arms, her fingers twitching ever so slightly as she dreams of whatever it is infants dream about.

“To James and his cheery cherub. May your future be safe, bright, and boring as hell.” Moriarty says before knocking back his glass. James follows suit, the scotch burning on the way down.

“If this works, I won't be back.” He says after a moment of silence, absentmindedly runs a finger down her cheek, “Ever.”

“Well, with this world the way it is,” Moriarity says, smile sharp as a knife, “One can hope, eh?”

* * *

  
  


Kathleen looks so much like her mother. 

James realizes this as the girl grows- her curls loosen a little, her skin darkens. When she smiles, when she laughs, his gut tightens. 

He wishes Catherine was here. Every single day he has that thought; when Kathleen refuses to sleep, or cries without any sign of stopping, or when she does something hilarious, or her first words, he thinks of Catherine. He thinks of how much she wanted this. 

He wanted this too, of course, but he's beginning to think he didn't prepare. He expected Catherine to be here, with her wellspring of knowledge, her gentle disposition. He didn't plan on raising a child alone.

He's made mistakes- _god_ , he's made mistakes but, damnit, he's trying. And when that little girl looks up at him, eyes filled with love and trust, he knows he's doing something right.

* * *

  
  


His daughter is eleven when she is dragged into the clinic by the back of her suit, blood pouring from her nose, and a dark bruise blooming across her cheek.

Officer Kendall drops her in one of the chairs, says something about ‘if she was my daughter’, and James clenches his teeth to keep the anger from pouring out.

“ _Thank_ you, Officer.” James snaps, interrupting Kendall, who shoots him a glare as he leaves the room.

“What happened?” He asks, and Kathleen opens her mouth, then closes it, “Kat…”

“It was Wally’s fault!” She shouts, then lowers her voice, “He said that you're not my dad because we don't look the same.”

“He said that?” James asks as he sits in the chair next to hers.

“Yeah…” She grumbles as he tucks a stray curl back into the slicked-back bun on the top of her head, “He doesn't get to talk about us like that, so I punched him.”

“You can't just punch people, Kathleen.” He says as gently as he can.

“Why not?”

“Because… because that's not how we do things here.” She's silent for a moment, “I will speak to his father.”

“Mr. Mack isn't gonna do anything.” She says, looking up at him with wide eyes, “Shouldn't I stand up for myself?”

_You should see your daughter, Catherine._ James thinks, holds back a smile, _Just as stubborn as you._

“Well, yes, but physical violence will only get you in trouble with the Overseer, and that's not something we want." It's not like James doesn't already get in enough trouble with Alphonse, he doesn't need his daughter on the Overseer's blacklist, too. "Just… next time he says something like that, come to me, okay?"

Kathleen doesn't say anything for a long moment, and he's worried she'll argue. Then, she sighs, and nods.

"Okay."

"Okay. I love you, Kat."

"I love you, too, Dad."

* * *

James stands in the dark, watching as Kathleen’s chest rises and falls under the sheets.

She's nineteen now. As much an adult as the sheltered life of the Vault can make you. She can take care of herself.

_Last chance,_ he thinks to himself, grits his teeth as he forces his feet to move- backwards, out of the room, down the hall, and then up, the claxons behind him ringing in his ears as the Vault doors close and he steps out into the light for the first time in years.

_Catherine._ He thinks, shielding his eyes from the sun, _I hope I'm doing the right thing._

* * *

  
  


He thinks he will not see his daughter again- doesn't know that in only a few hours she will be standing in front of Jonas’s bruised and broken body, holding a holotape close to her chest and wondering what she did wrong.

* * *

It's been too long since James has shot a gun.

He's out of practice, so used to relying on the passive-aggressive pleasantries of the Vault to solve his issues.

_Talking_ it out doesn't work with raiders, and he's reminded of that when he's forced into his first firefight since leaving the safety of the Vault.

The fight ends bloody- on both sides. 

The Raiders are dead, and he's left with a wound in his shoulder, bleeding with no sign of stopping anytime soon.

He rips a strip from his undershirt, wraps his arm tight and stabs a Stimpack into the skin next to the wound.

He carries on, can feel the familiarity of walking silently through the Capital Wasteland’s expanse as the hours pass. 

The last time he made this journey was with a baby strapped to his chest. It would be easier if he hadn't gotten so out of shape over the last nineteen years. The fight hadn't been easy 

He tries not to think of blood pounding in his ears, of the smile that crept onto his face as he ducked behind cover and fired at the raiders. 

He tries not to think of that rush of adrenaline and joy that comes with surviving a fight, the relief that _you_ survived, and those other people died. 

As he walks, he has nothing but time to think about it.

* * *

Rivet City gives James nothing but bad memories and a sour taste in his mouth.

Li wasn't happy about his return, and he can't really blame her. He _left_ nineteen years ago, left them to handle it all on their own, and then he just shows up again wanting to start the Purifier back up as if nothing had happened.

She had asked him what happened to Kathleen, and he told her the truth.

“You abandoned us, and now her, too?” Li says, softly, and the words hit him hard.

"She's an adult. The Vault will give her a good life, one I can't give her out here." James responds, then sighs, "I didn't come here to talk about Kathleen."

"I can't give you what you're asking for, James, you know that." Li finally says, doesn't look at him. He nods, and turns to walk away.

"It was good seeing you, Madison." He says, but she does not respond as he walks out the door.

* * *

  
  


James fiddles with the controls on his Pip-Boy until he catches a signal. He wasn't sure he'd get anything, being so deep underground.

“ _And don't you step on my blue suede shoes_ _  
_ _Well, you can do anything_ _  
_ _But stay off of my blue suede shoes.”_

James sighs, smiles softly as Elvis’s voice fills the large chamber. It's probably the first human voice in the room for over two centuries, and it's a song he knows well. His daughter's favorite.

He places a hand on the glass of one of the few empty pods in the room

“ _Well, it's one for the money_ _  
_ _Two for the show_   
_Three to get ready_ _  
_ Now go, go, go!”

“I'm really doing this?” He asks no one, presses a button on the side of the pod that unlocks the lid. He pushes it open, frowns at the leather chair inside, ”Doesn't really look comfortable, now does it?”

“If I get out of here, I'm sure to have one sore back.” He continues, then quickly corrects himself, “ _When_ I get out of here, I mean.”

“ _And that was Blue Suede Shoes by Elvis Presley. I'd like to take another moment to thank our special guest Ka-”_

James turns a knob on the Pip-Boy, and he's surrounded by the suffocating silence of the vault once more. 

He takes a deep breath, and climbs into the pod. For a moment nothing happens, then there's a _hiss,_ the pod shuts, and the world goes black.


End file.
